


everything to lose

by orphan_account



Category: High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (TV)
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Caught, Crushes, Embarrassment, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Nail Polish, Nonbinary Seb Matthew-Smith, Sexuality Crisis, Sleepovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23151388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It sort of all starts by accident.Because it’s not really that Sebmeantto get into Isabelle’s stuff—he knewnotto, of course—but she’d just left it lying around, and who’s to say that a ten-year-old kid shouldn’t get into things they’re curious about?Plus...she left the bottle on the counter.So what?(or, a few small looks into seb’s life as he navigates his identity through something boys shouldn’t: nail polish)
Relationships: Seb Matthew-Smith/Carlos Rodriguez, big red/howie
Comments: 13
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yes i wrote in howie, what about it ? 
> 
> (also yes the title is from loyal brave true, we’re not gonna talk about how upset i am that the release got pushed back)

It sort of all starts by accident. 

Because it’s not really that Seb _meant_ to get into Isabelle’s stuff—he knew _not_ to, of course—but she’d just left it lying around, and who’s to say that a ten-year-old kid shouldn’t get into things they’re curious about? 

It’s just a bottle of clear top-coat nail polish that Isabelle had just finished using, because her and her boyfriend got to go to some fancy-fancy event, and she had decided to do her nails tonight. 

And she left the bottle on the counter. 

So what? 

Seb’s being babysat by a couple of his older siblings, but he’s already told them that he _doesn’t_ need babysitting, and that he’s perfectly fine on his own, so they don’t need to disturb Seb upstairs. 

That’s how it starts. 

And then every few days for the next month or so, Seb puts the clear nail polish on his fingers because he likes how smooth and shiny it makes them look. He can honestly look and stare at them, and run his fingertips over them, all day. It’s so fun! 

Fortunately, ten-year-old Seb doesn't yet know the rules that society has pre-made up for boys, boys _like him_. He’s not supposed to wear nail polish, but he doesn’t know it yet. 

Since before he was born, even, he wasn’t allowed to. Because he was seen as a boy on his ultrasounds, and that’s where the rules, truly, begin. 

Thank God he doesn’t yet know. He can live blissfully and happily, with his clear, shiny nails, for just a bit longer. 

Lord knows he deserves it.  
——  
It’s just a few years later, and Seb’s no older than twelve years old—but he _knows_ , now. He knows, now, that he _shouldn’t _have done what he did a couple years ago, and he knows he shouldn’t be doing what he’s about to do, either, because it’s risky.__

__But that doesn’t stop him. Nothing stops him._ _

__Once again, Seb’s just finished washing up his hands after using the bathroom, and then he spots it._ _

__The pink polish._ _

__It was just sitting, glistening, on the counter, yellowing underneath all of the bathroom lights. Still, yet, it was a _really_ pretty colour, and he can’t ignore the fact that his chest is clenching in such a way that’s letting him know that he just _has_ to do this. He wants it on his nails. He needs it for himself. _ _

__And so he grabs the bottle and beelines to his bedroom._ _

__His parents aren’t home, and neither are many of his siblings for once, thank God—although, in hindsight, he wouldn’t be doing this in the first place if his parents _were_ here—and so he gets started as soon as he can. _ _

__It smells atrocious, and he didn’t remember it being so sour. But it’s worth it._ _

__As he’s doing his nails, his mind wanders slightly. Would somebody see? It was summertime, which was good, and he didn’t have very many friends that he often made plans with outside of classes, but he still lived with his huge family, and he knew he was due to go and get groceries with Mom tomorrow, or maybe the day after, if he was lucky._ _

___Would somebody see?_ _ _

__Would that be a terrible thing to happen?_ _

__Seb pauses, and thinks for a moment._ _

__Yeah, it definitely would be._ _

__But he doesn’t stop._ _

__As he paints, he thinks of solutions—because he’s not stopping now. Maybe he could easily hide it—it _was_ a decently pale pink, after all, so it was similar to his natural nail colour already—or maybe he could scrape it off before he has to see anybody in public. It sort of sucks that it’s the middle of summer and he’s not able to wear gloves. Though…maybe that would’ve been too easy._ _


	2. Chapter 2

This time around, he doesn’t particularly care for a specific colour or finish, anything will do, but he’s _alone_ , which is what’s important, and he’s safe, and he knows he will be for at least a few hours. Best of all, none of his school bullies are here in his bathroom to make fun of him. God knows if any of them saw him using _nail polish_... 

He wants to take advantage of this golden opportunity as efficiently as he can. All he has to do is dig around the cabinet for a few seconds to come across the bin of colours that he thinks about nearly every time he comes in and uses the bathroom. 

Sometimes he just daydreams about digging through the colours as he brushes his teeth in the mornings. He fantasizes about choosing a bottle or two and using them on his fingers and toes as he takes his showers at nighttime. He sometimes stares holes into the cabinet doors and longs for the paint as he washes his face. 

Sometimes he can’t even help himself to not open the cabinet, seemingly beyond his might, just to simply look, to _long_ for the opportunity to use them for real, instead of just in his head. 

And then he’ll promptly slam the cabinet door shut and turn the lights off, as soon as he can get a grip on himself, because he’s a _boy_ , and that’s not allowed. He’s not _gay_ , and he’s not a queer or anything. 

He just…thinks it looks insanely fun. _That’s all_. 

God, why can’t boys have any _fun_ with their lives? 

The basket has an array of colours that Seb hasn’t really ever gotten the opportunity to closely inspect before. It has ranges of light blues and deep pinks and bright yellows, and it kind of reminds him of that one sunset he saw outside from the barn last week, and suddenly Seb wonders why Isabelle and the rest of his sisters hardly ever wear nail polish, yet they stash so many bottles away for themselves, only to never use them. 

Selfish, he thought. They should be wearing it constantly. 

He would. 

Seb’s eyes soon catch sight of a bottle of maroon-red paint, and he feels his heart skip a beat. He isn’t exactly sure what it is about the colour, but he knows it’s the one. 

As he thoughtlessly pushes the basket with the remaining bottles to the side, Seb grabs the stray bottle of nail polish remover and sets to work. 

The polish, as it turns out, must have only been used only a handful of times because it was nearly filled-to-the-brim with colour, though he caught sight of a few flakes that had fallen onto the pristine-white counter. Seb made a mental note to make certain he cleaned it all up later. 

It must have taken at least half an hour to finish his left fingers, but with a concentrated hand, maybe a few prayers, and a dedication he’s never really felt before, he does it. Somehow. And it’s…ugly. The sticky, old paint is all over his nails and skin, because he’s never really done this before, but it’s somehow perfect, too. 

For the first time ever, Seb feels like he can maybe—just _maybe_ —finally be true to himself, just for once. 

But that doesn’t mean it’s going to be a continuous thing, though, and it certainly isn’t a statement, or a trend. It’s just…an experiment. 

Nobody will see it, and nobody will ever have to know if he doesn’t tell them. 

Seb eventually leans against the cabinet with his back to the mirror, examining his hand thoughtfully. He can feel the grin on his face already spreading by the second, because he knows this is him. It’s _him!_

He’s home. 

Just as Seb glances up at the clock above the towel rack, he hears a noise. 

A very distinct noise. 

A car. 

It means one thing. 

With that, Seb’s heart sinks as he whips the door open to try and air out the bathroom as much as he can in the awful short time-frame he has. God, he was _not_ expecting them to be home so soon! Soon, he can hear the lock of the front door being opened, and that’s what seems to send him into a mad-frenzy. 

Seb grabs hold of the basket, the bottle of polish remover and the open bottle of maroon polish, and tries to shove it all back into the cabinet before his parents come inside. Which may not be the best idea he’s ever had. 

“We’re home!” He hears, and then he drops the bottle. 

It’s merely one bottle, but it’s open—and glass. 

The bottle proceeds to fall into the sink and shatter. Seb can’t help but burst into tears, because he knows, now, that he won’t be able to hide this like he’d hoped to. 

“What—hello? What was that? Did something just break? Where is everyone? Seb? Ashton?” 

“Me and Alex and Ashton are in my room!” He curses his brothers for ratting him out. 

“Where’s Seb?” He hears, and he panics even further. 

“Don’t know!” 

“You boys were supposed to be watching him!” 

“I'm sure he’s fine!” 

As he hears his mom walk up the stairs, he suddenly realizes it smells like nail polish—like when his sisters are sitting in their rooms together, painting each other’s nails, and their mom comes in and curses at them for making the whole house smell, and that she has to open all of the windows to have the house air out. It's even worse than that, now, because there’s an entire bottle now broken and emptied into the sink—and that shutting the door wouldn’t do anything to help him, even if he could get a tad bit of privacy. Not like it’d help. He’s sure the scent is probably so strong, the cows could be able to smell it, all the way out in the barn outside. 

His mom hesitantly walks around the corner and steps foot in the doorway of the bathroom, her eyes widening comically. It smells awful in here. “Seb…?” She looks further past the doorway, and she sees the sink is coloured more red than white, akin to her child’s cheeks—he’s crying, silently. She can see the tears in his eyes, and her heart breaks a little bit. 

Immediately, she puts two and two together as she sees Seb’s got his left hand tucked underneath his shirt against his stomach with his right one covering the cloth. He’s hiding his hand. 

“Come here,” she says quietly, hoping not to frighten Seb more than he is already. “My sweet boy, come here.” 

Seb shakes his head and turns it away from her, stuffing his nose into his shoulder and sniffling. At Seb’s attempts to hide himself, she finally steps into the room and rests her hand on Seb’s right. “You’re going to ruin the inside of your shirt, sweetheart.” 

“Please go,” he whispers, trying to back up against the wall, away from his mother, who’s at an entire loss on what to do. She’s never seen Seb like this before, never, and, for God’s sake, she raised him! 

His mother chews on her lip. “Would you like Dad up here instead?” 

Seb shakes his head quickly, crouching away from the woman. 

“I’m not sure I want to leave you alone right now, Seb. At the very least, could we clean up this mess together?” 

Again, Seb shakes his head, and his mom silently curses how quiet Seb gets when he’s upset, despite him being one of the most excitable and talkative people she’s ever known—he’s certainly one of the most excitable kids out of all of the siblings. He’s not like the rest of them. 

She stands next to him, pausing, and lets the words fall in the air. She knows she won’t get an answer, but she’d at least like to give Seb a chance. “I hope you know I’m not mad or upset with you over breaking this, okay?” 

Not like she thinks that that’s why he’s so upset. “Nor for you using it. I’m supposing that’s what’s got you so teary, huh?” Seb only shrugs, then nods his head slowly. 

“It’s okay to be,” Seb sniffles, “It—it won’t happen again. It won’t.” 

“Seb, Seb, Seb,” she says softly. “I would never be. Never, you got it? I don’t care if you want to put on nail polish. I don’t. It’s not a big deal. It’s okay to be curious, and to want to try things you’ve never tried before! It doesn’t make you less a boy, right? Just a boy with coloured nails. And an inside-stained tee shirt.

“Did you hear me?” She says after she’s let the words linger for a few moments. “I’ll leave you alone if you let me know you understand.”

After a moment, came, “Okay.” 

His mother wraps her arms around Seb, who's still sniffling and whose face is still very red, but she figures she won’t get much further than she already has without making him more upset. “I’m going to get Dad to come up and clean this, okay? I don’t want you cutting yourself on this glass. Sounds good?” 

“I don’t want him to know,” Seb says, pulls away from her hug, and then looks up at his mom—the first time he’s looked her in the eyes this whole time. “Please don’t tell him.” 

She hesitates. Seb doesn’t usually directly hide things from them. She wonders how long this has been going on underneath their noses—not like it’s a _bad_ thing, but it seems to mean a great deal to him, and she wants to support him as much as she can. “I—okay,” she says, thinking. “I won’t tell him it was you, I’ll say that it was me who dropped it. Is that alright?” 

Seb nods quickly, and then she gives him a sad smile. “I’ll go downstairs and grab him.” She can’t help but feel guilty, just a little bit. She doesn’t know what else Seb’s hiding, what else he’s ashamed of about himself. If this has anything to do with what she _thinks_ it might, her heart breaks for his youth. She’s heard the horror stories. 

She won’t let that happen with him. 

“I’ll let you alone for a bit. I love you, okay? So much. And Dad, too. We love you tons. And tons and tons.” 

And then she’s gone. 

Seb sits on the cold floor, and finally pulls his hand from the fabric of his shirt. He examines his fingers. What was once so beautiful and fulfilling now left Seb feeling shame, and emptiness. He could hardly believe he once thought this was something he should do. 

He grabs a fresh roll of toilet paper from the bottom cabinet and took the bottle of polish remover, and then retreats quickly to his bedroom, shutting the door and pushing a chair underneath the doorknob. 

Any evidence of this will all be gone and forgotten about by the end of the day.  
—  
“I need help cleaning up in the bathroom,” says Catherine immediately as she walks down the stairs, “Some nail polish got broken in the sink and I’m not sure how to clean it up.” 

Samuel looks from his phone with a puzzled look on his face. “You haven’t painted your nails in months…?” 

Catherine feels her heart drop, because she’s not sure what to do. She knows Samuel would be fine with it—she _knows_ it—but should she tell him, she’s still disrespecting Seb’s wishes… 

“I was looking through the cabinet and I dropped a bottle into the sink. What should I do about the glass?” 

Samuel stands up and sets his phone down on the spot he’d been sitting in, giving Catherine a small, yet suspicious smile. “I love you, Cath, but you are a terrible liar, honey. Didn’t you ask Seb if something had broken when we got home? I figured you probably had it handled.” 

Shit. “Sam…” 

“What’d he do?” 

“He dropped it.” 

Samuel gave her a small laugh. “Clumsy kid. Was he…?”

Catherine sighs. She feels awful. “I—yes—but he’d asked not to say anything…”

Samuel’s smile falters a little bit. “Is he alright?” 

“I think so. I…I hope so,” she pauses. “I think he only did one hand. He had it underneath his shirt the whole time I was with him.” 

“Against the cloth?”

Catherine nods.

Samuel scrunches up his nose. “That mustn’t be very nice for the fabric.” 

“We’ll probably have to get rid of the shirt. I’m more concerned about him right now, though. He didn’t get hurt, and it probably should get cleaned up before it all starts to dry up, but…” 

“Should I speak with him?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t want to see me at all, and I’m a _girl_. I’m not sure how he’ll take you knowing about it, too. He got really worked up about it.”

Samuel looks towards the stairs. His heart hurts a bit, too. “I won’t tell him anything then, if it’s dealt with and he’s alright. He doesn’t have to know I know.” 

Catherine nods. “I don’t want him to be ashamed of himself. If this is what I think it might be…” 

“Then it’s perfectly fine,” says Samuel quickly, assuring his wife. “Some kids…they have certain things they have to work and go through alone, you know? As much as it sucks. I think we’re thinking the same thing.”

Catherine lets out a small laugh. “I just don’t want him to be afraid of us. I know he’s still so young, but at this age...and especially in _Utah_ of all places…” 

“I get it. Unconditional support. But—you know, just because he paints his nails once and is nervous about someone finding out, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything—”

“I know! I’m just worried, because what if it _does_? I don’t want his youth to be spent worrying over this—whatever it _may or may not_ be. I don’t ever want to see him the way I just did ever again. He was so scared, Sam. Scared of _me_ , and what I’d say. I could just _feel_ the fear radiating. It was terrifying, Sam. I love him so much.”

“I know. He loves you too—and I. It’ll all be okay, got it?” 

He takes Catherine’s hand. 

“Let’s go clean up.”   
—  
By the time it was time to eat dinner, Seb’s been long since finished taking off every bit lf polish that had once been on his nails and skin. He’s rubbed them clean-raw, and they’re still decently red and irritated. Seb, too, has changed his shirt, stuffing the previous one with the stained interior of it deep inside the laundry hamper. 

He doesn’t want to see mom ever again, he thinks, though quietly, because he knows it’s not true—but it’s all too true at the same time. Maybe he’d like to see her if he could erase the past few hours from her mind, and she wouldn’t remember the incident that had happened. 

“Everyone, come down and eat! And please, everybody, wash your mucky hands before you come down!” 

_Mucky hands_? Oh, God, Dad must know. Damn it. 

And so, very begrudgingly, Seb stands up and removes the chair from underneath his doorknob. He cracks it open, and he can feel his heart racing. 

He’s nervous to go back into the bathroom. 

He pushes the door open, and the sink and counter are both spotless, just as it had been when his parents had first left today. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

His sisters come charging into the room, one after the other, as he stands at the sink. He doesn’t greet them. 

Hopefully Dad doesn’t know. 

There’s no way he couldn’t, not with the mucky hands comment. It _couldn’t_ have just been an offhand remark. There’s no way. 

Taking as _long_ as he possibly can, Seb washes his hands while grimacing. His left hand burns a bit underneath the soap and water, and he can’t look at himself in the mirror. His skin is probably red, and his eyes are probably still puffy from crying. 

He knows it's definitely not too good of a look on him, sans even seeing it.

He can hardly bear showing face downstairs, but neither of his parents act out of the ordinary at all. Almost as if it had never happened. 

_Almost_.

He had even sat down, looked at both of them in the eyes, and didn’t feel…anything wrong. Dad definitely didn’t know, which was a plus side—he was acting especially ordinary. 

It didn’t feel quite like there was an elephant in the room, not like he’d expected—dreaded—it to feel. Maybe a mouse, or a hamster, or another equally-small animal, but…nothing drastic. Conversation between him and the rest of his siblings and parents continued on as normal. 

He couldn’t have been more thankful. 

Regardless… 

This was never, _ever_ going to happen again.


	3. Chapter 3

“Guys, we need to play a game!” Seb hears someone say, and then sees Carlos look over at him with fear in his eyes. Sleepover games tend to get into very uncharted territory uncomfortably fast, especially when everyone in the group is drunk off of soda and pizza, sitting in someone’s family’s basement at nearly midnight. It’s just not a good combination, Seb finally realizes. He’s done enough of these sleepover things to come to realize this. 

Carlos seems to agree with him, if the look in eyes are anything to go off of. 

“Of course we do! Can we play truth or dare?” Someone else cries, and Seb feels someone next to him shift around on their makeshift-ten-person-bed-on-the-floor. Seb groans. 

“Come on, guys, we’re not in middle school anymore! Can we play something else? What about...seven minutes in Heaven?” Seb swears he hears half of the group groan at that idea, too. 

There’s a small lull in the conversation, and then someone finally speaks up, as if a saving grace. “Never have I ever!”

Seb shifts around, and he observes the group. Everyone seems to enjoy that suggestion, if the mood shift is any indication. A few people are laying on their respective sleeping bags, some are cuddling—Howie and Big Red, but what’s new?—are cuddling together, and others are sitting up properly, waiting for the game to start. 

Not too long later, Nini is the first person to speak. “Okay, guys! Let’s start with some rules—everyone has to hold up both hands. When it gets to your turn, you say something you’ve never done before people, and whoever in the group has done that thing puts a finger down. You have ten chances to have...not done those things. First person with all of their fingers down loses—or wins, I don’t really know. Who wants to go first?” 

E.J. jumps at the chance. “Never have I ever gotten drunk!” He shouts immediately, and Ricky looks across at him, a stunned look on his face. 

“No way E.J.’s never gotten drunk before.”

E.J. pauses. “Wait, it has to be something I’ve _never_ done?” 

A few people groan, but Seb only laughs to himself. Of course E.J. would mess it up, first round. Of course. “Didn’t you listen to Nini explain the rules?”

“Seb, I didn’t need that sass,” says E.J., looking over at Seb as soon as he finishes speaking. “And yes, I was listening. Fine—never have I ever _not_ gotten drunk before.” 

“What does that even mean?” 

“I think it’d be, like, put a finger down if you’ve _never_ been drunk?” 

A couple of people—including only Ashlyn and Seb—groan, and put a finger down. They’ve all been to the theatre group’s parties before—and, honestly, seeing some of these people drunk can be really funny—but it’s not really either of their _thing_ , which is fine. None of the older kids in the group have ever forced either of them to do anything they don't want to. 

Seb’s mostly just mad he has to put a finger down already.

“Your turn, Ricky,” someone says, pointing at Ricky, sitting right next to E.J.. 

Ricky ponders for a moment, looking at his ten fingers all still proudly up. “Never have I ever...been part of the ensemble in a show,” he says, and everybody in the group—aside from Howie and Red—puts a finger down. A few people groan and complain about how that’s completely unfair, but Ricky just shrugs it off. Not his problem. Ricky’s smirking. E.J., right beside Ricky, hits his chest. Ricky laughs. 

“Not everyone is as secretly talented and charismatic and hot as you are, Ricky!” 

Kourtney yells in opposition, “Ricky’s _not_ hot!” 

“Who’s next?” 

“I’ll go,” says Red, and Seb quickly looks over at him. “Never have I ever…” he starts, and Seb watches him look around the room idly, trying to come up with what he’s going to say. He sees Red pause on Carlos—more specially on Carlos’s hands and dark nails—and then starts again, “Painted my nails!”

Seb’s heart drops. He sees all of the girls complain about putting their fingers down, and then looks at Carlos whose jaw is dropped in mock-offence. Everyone’s laughing at his reaction. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me, Red. I’m next—never have I ever _had red hair_!” 

Red rolls his eyes back at Carlos, putting down his first finger. 

“Wait, Red, you’ve never had your nails painted?” Says Ashlyn from across the circle. “I swear I’ve painted your nails before.” 

“You’ve never done that,” he says, shaking his head. 

“Ricky, come on, put a finger down. I’ve definitely done your nails before, too,” Nini says, and Ricky rolls his eyes, putting down his first finger as well. 

“It’s a crime that E.J. and Howie both have never had their nails done. Can we change this tonight?” Says Gina, shooting a hand across the circle to point at the two boys mentioned, her mouth agape. “Does anyone have nail polish?” 

“I’m good, Gina,” E.J. assures, groaning slightly. “I really don’t need my nails done.” 

“Me too—”

A few girls—and Carlos—groan. “It’ll be fun!” 

“Wait, Seb, you’ve _never_ done your nails either?” Someone asks, and Seb whips his head over to the sound, his eyes wide. He quickly makes sure to drop the shock, though, because he doesn’t really want to be suspicious about it. 

He can’t tell anybody. He doesn’t want to tell anyone about how he’s done it so many times before, how he used to paint them clear nearly every day when he was, like, ten years old. How he once tried to paint them for the last time, over three years ago, and then dropped the bottle into the sink, shattering the glass and spilling both the polish and the secret to his mother. That’s a memory he’d rather forget, and he tries his best not to think about it as much as he possibly can.

He and his mom haven’t talked about it since. He doesn’t want to, frankly, so he’s fine with it.

“No,” he says, but maybe it’s a bit too fast, a bit too defensive. He really hopes not. 

“Why did nobody do them for you for Sharpay? Her white nail polish was kind of iconic,” Carlos says, looking over at Seb, his eyes narrowed slightly. 

“I don’t know.”

“I have a bunch of nail polish of my mom’s upstairs. I’ll go get it and bring it down. Boys, we’re doing all of your nails!” 

True to her words, Ashlyn runs upstairs and grabs her mom’s nail polish collection, bringing it downstairs and back to the group only a few moments later. Seb knows his face is probably completely drained of colour at this point, and he doesn’t want to do this—but he doesn’t want to tell them all what’s happened with him and nail polish even more, so...he has to. 

Kourtney gets the chance to do Seb’s nails as soon as Ashlyn comes back downstairs, and soon after, they quit the game they were previously playing, opting rather to idly chat about whatever comes to mind while the girls are in concentration. 

“What colour do you want, Seb?” Kourtney asks, looking to the basket sitting in the middle of the circle. There’s many different pairings breaking off around the room, and Seb’s actually pretty glad he got Kourtney out of anyone he could’ve gotten—especially Carlos. Carlos scares the hell out of him sometimes—no matter how big of a crush Seb (secretly—very secretly) has on him—and he’s really not sure if he’d be able to sit still for as long as it’d take him to sufficiently paint all of Seb’s nails. He’d be shaking way too much!

Maroon, maybe, he thinks, deep down in his mind, but he doesn’t say it out loud. He can’t do that. “Choose for me.” 

Kourtney leans over, accidentally falling down onto one of the sleeping bags they’re sitting on, and Nini gasps at her friend, nearly tipping over Nini’s bottle sitting on the floor right next to her. “Careful, Kourt!” 

“Sorry,” she says quickly, and grabs a random bottle from the basket without even looking at the colour. “You get a random colour. Hope you like it.”

She ends up grabbing a bright red bottle of nail polish, and Seb’s shoulders slump slightly. He had half-wished that she’d just grab an ugly colour—like orange or something—so Seb doesn’t deep-down want it as much, but it’s a really pretty colour—very Marilyn Monroe-esque—and his heart soars a bit as he sees it. He doesn’t want to like it as much as he knows he will. Maybe avoiding looking at it would help. 

“Is it able to come off quickly?” He asks once Kourtney’s situated in front of him, the bottle already being uncapped in her hand. 

“It usually takes a couple weeks for it to all chip off,” she says, shrugging. “Why? Do you not want to go to school with it on?” She asks hesitantly. 

Seb’s eyes flicker up to Kourtney’s, and he feels like all of it is silently explained in their short moment of eye contact. “I mean...it’s not really the best to have on when you work on a farm. Chipping and stuff?” He lies, though, even if he’s sure she probably knows she got it partially right with her first guess, anyways. 

“Fair enough,” she says, and then grabs both of Seb’s hands. She sets to work. 

“Guys,” someone says once most of the girls have fallen quiet into concentration. “It’s way too quiet for this group.”

“Does anyone have any music to play?”

“I do!” Ricky shouts quickly, and then gets reprimanded by Nini for moving too fast and smudging her polish. “Can someone grab my phone? We can play some Jackson 5.” 

Seb sees Nini reach over and grab his phone, and she enters his passcode. They’re really close for, well… 

Exes, he supposes. He thinks they work good as best friends, though, too. 

She starts to play his music quietly, setting his phone in the centre of the makeshift-bed. It fills the silence. 

“Guys, let's go around! Who does everyone like?” Someone says, and Seb’s hands flinch a bit once he hears it. Kourtney grabs his hand a bit more firmly, as if to tell him not to do that again. 

Does this really have to happen? 

“What, are we in sixth grade or something?” 

“Come on, it’s fun! We’ve all been too preoccupied with the show to actually _talk_ to one another, and now it’s finally over!” 

“I like Howie!” Says Red excitedly, and Seb sees Howie look over to Red with this _look_ in his eyes. They’re stupidly cute. E.J. and Carlos both fake-coo at them. 

“I like Red!” 

“There’s a really cute guy in my Calc class, and I don’t think I know his name, but I just know we’re going to get married someday,” says Kourtney, and Seb looks up at her, giving her a small, knowing smile. “Oh, don’t look at me like that! If you saw him, Seb, I think you’d think he’s _hella_ cute, too.” 

“I doubt it,” he says defensively, rolling his eyes. “I don’t like anybody.” 

Kourtney snorts. “As if.” 

“I don’t!” 

“Seb, with all due respect,” Carlos says from across the room, “I don’t think anybody believes you.” 

Seb frowns. “Why not?” He looks away from Kourtney still working on his fingers up to Carlos, painting one of E.J.'s hands. He’s not even looking at Seb. 

“You’re, like, kind of in love with _everybody_ ,” E.J. points out, and he hears a few people laugh and hum in agreement. “Like, how excited are you for Valentine’s Day?” 

“I guess there’s...maybe this one girl,” Seb starts after a moment of silence, of contemplation, continuing to look behind Kourtney’s shoulder to Carlos. He doesn’t know why he needs this dumb boys approval so bad. “In a few of my classes, and, um, she was in theatre.” 

Nearly everyone who wasn’t paying attention to the small exchange before is now, especially with the addition of Seb saying she’s in theatre. God, he’s fucked up, hasn’t he? 

“Really?” Says Carlos, above everyone else, from across the floor. 

Seb's heart sinks. “Uh, sort of?” 

“Who?” 

“Obviously I’m not going to tell,” says Seb finally, rolling his eyes. Kourtney giggles quietly to herself. 

“Will you tell _me_?” She whispers, and someone yells about how sucky the new song is, rushing to change it immediately. 

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s…”

“New?”

A boy. “Sure, we’ll go with that,” Seb says, and he sort of starts to feel that icky feeling you get when you lie to someone really important—or, rather, a huge group of really important people. He doesn’t like this, but, God, he knows he’d hate telling everyone it’s _Carlos_ even more. 

Kourtney only hums. He feels like she knows more than she should. 

Moments pass in comfortable silence within the room before someone finally speaks up again. “This is kind of therapeutic.” 

“But it also smells like _ass_ in here, so is there a window we can open?” 

“Sure, I’ll go open one.” 

Now that the basement has all of the windows open, it’s gotten sufficiently more cold—thanks to the fact that it’s the middle of winter in Utah!—which equals more blankets, less drying time and a spilled bottle of niall polish. Seb sees it fall, and he stays quiet the whole time. This whole situation that’s going on is...kind of a lot to deal with. That godforsaken day had been repressed into the darkest depths of his mind for so long, and now, all at once, it’s being brought to the forefront once again. This sucks. 

“Can we see everyone’s nails yet? Is everyone done?” Nini asks after the group has split into smaller groups, waiting for the boys nails to finally finish drying. Seb’s been quiet nearly the whole time, trying his best to simply concentrate on anything _but_ his nails. It’s proving to be more difficult than he’d expected. A few people from the crowd hums in agreement once again, and everyone shifts so they’re sitting in a big circle on the floor of blankets, waiting for the boys to show off their new nails. 

“Well, since nobody wants to go first, these are mine,” Carlos starts jokingly, waving his fingers at everyone in the middle of the circle. 

“Cheater,” Gina says. “You already had yours done.” 

“I know, but they’re good, so why shouldn’t I show them off?” 

Seb cracks a smile. 

“I think we should start with Seb, ‘cause he’s smiling to himself like a crazy person,” Carlos says after a moment of quiet. Seb’s eyes quickly widen and shoot up to meet the boys. 

Kourtney lightly nudges Seb from his left, and he just about nudges her back, but he doesn’t want to seem too suspicious. Clearly she knows something Seb didn’t think she would—or should. That thought makes him ever-so-slightly ill to the stomach. “I am not.” 

“Show us!” Nini says excitedly, motioning to his hands. “Kourt is amazing at everything beautiful.” 

Seb raises his now-dry hands from his lap, the fluorescent, yellowing lights—as if decaying —shimmering off of the bright red, shiny polish finish. A couple girls commend Kourtney for how good they look, and someone else mentions about how Seb has really good nails. He shrugs and pulls them back into his lap as soon as they’re finished. 

The rest of the group goes by in a blur, and before Seb really knows it, everyone’s rearranging themselves on the floor to watch a film on the small television provided in Ashlyn’s basement. It’s nearly eleven already, and Seb sort of wonders how the time has gone by so fast. Soon enough, it’ll be time to sleep and then wake up, and he’ll be able to go home. He loves his friends, really, and he adores spending time with them all together like this, but this event has quickly taken a very sharp turn for the worst.

God, he doesn’t even know _why_ it’s affecting him so much. Because he’s scared? Because he doesn’t want to be...different? Different from _who_? From nearly half—at least—of the group surrounding him right now? 

It’s not even like he ever used to be against doing his nails—like, obviously he never was, and he still loves the idea of getting to do it to this day—but he really doesn’t want to face what that really means for him. He’s not even taking into consideration the fact that he _totally_ likes Carlos, too.

“I hope everyone’s fine with horror films,” one of the girls says, and when nobody makes any direct opposition to her, she picks a random film—some old Stephen King one that Ashlyn had sitting in a CD case on the television stand. It starts momentarily, and Seb, out of the corner of his eye, notices Red get up to go shut the lights off. 

Somehow, Carlos and Seb ended up sitting right next to each other, and Seb, over the course of the next two films, ended up becoming very familiar with two very present facts: Carlos doesn’t like horror films at all, and he _loves_ to cuddle into whoever he can when he’s scared. 

In short, the night was spent with Seb’s heart racing nearly the entire time, but not from the jumpscares and profuse amounts of blood on the screen. 

After the second horror film ended, it’s well past two in the morning and nearly everyone—including Carlos—has started to finally fall asleep. Seb doesn’t, though, and can’t. 

Seb grabs his phone after God-knows-how-long of sitting and staring off into the darkness of this basement filled with his friends and turns it on, glaring at the bright light from the screen, then looking at the time. God, it’s already almost three? 

He can see his red nails from the corner of his eyes as he lowers the brightness on his phone. He sort of wants to pick it all away until there’s none left. 

“Seb? Is that you awake?” He jumps slightly, shutting his phone off and letting it fall to his chest. 

“Uh huh,” he says softly, squinting through the darkness to try and see where Kourtney is. “Where are you?” 

“Over here,” she says, turning her phone on. Seb spots her immediately. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” he whispers. “I just haven’t gotten to sleep yet.” 

“I mean, like, are you _alright_? You acted weird the whole night.” 

Seb rolls his eyes, even if she can’t see it. “Is anyone else even up right now?” He asks, and he’s met with absolute silence. If anybody is, they’re not speaking. “Why are _you_ up?” 

“The truth?” 

“Obviously, yeah.”

“The movies sort of freaked me out,” she admits carefully, quietly. “I didn’t want to oppose anyone who was excited to watch them tonight, but I kind of hate horror movies.”

Seb chuckles quietly. “Carlos too, apparently.” 

“Right, uh huh,” she says slowly, turning her phone on again so Seb can see her face. She doesn’t look very impressed. “Y’all were cuddling the whole night.” 

Seb frowns. She had noticed? “He was scared, I guess?” 

“You _like_ him, don’t you?” 

Seb’s heart misses a beat, as if it had just forgotten how to work for a moment. Why had she just said that—in this room full of people?! How had she even figured it out? Did she really not buy the theatre crush thing? 

“The truth.” She says finally. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kourt.” 

“Seb,” she says, her voice clipped, hushed. “Do I have to spill another one of my secrets to get you to tell me the truth? I really thought the horror movie thing would be enough.” 

Seb sighs. “Okay, okay, _fine_. You’re lucky it’s so early and that I’m not thinking right.” He says, pausing. He sort of wishes these blankets would consume him entirely. “Maybe a _bit_ , but, like, nothing significant. Honest.”

Kourtney doesn’t say anything for a moment. His heart races. He’s never told anybody this before, and, sure, there’s a couple of queer people within this group, but…

But this is all completely new territory for him. He tries not to think about all of this as much as he can in his day to day life. 

“Liar. You’re _super_ whipped, Sebby.”

“I—shut up!”

“And about that theatre girl…”

“Un...she doesn’t exist? I kind of figured you’d already figured that out…?”

“I definitely did, yeah. You’re not slick, dude.” She says, and both of them laugh quietly. “But, uh, what about the whole nail polish thing? Is this why you were all weird about it? Because I know…I know how you feel, Seb, I know how you felt with Sharpay. I thought it was a bit uncharacteristic of you to be so against someone doing your nails. Don’t you remember what you told me that day at the theatre? I didn’t figure you’d told anybody else that.” 

Seb’s heart races once again.

He didn’t ever figure he’d have to tell somebody this. He thought he’d be able to go his entire life without having to bring back that shitty, god-awful memory of his mother catching him with nail polish on and him stuffing his hand into his shirt. 

“I don’t think anyone else is awake, Sebby.”

“I do remember, and it all still stands, what I said. I…I felt really good with Sharpay. I’ve never told anyone what I told you, even if it probably didn’t seem like a really big deal. It definitely was to me,” Seb says tentatively, quietly, and Kourtney hums. “Uh, and it doesn’t, not really. Or...maybe, kind of? I’m not really sure yet…” he trails off, shifting around in his sleeping bag uncomfortably. Finally, he gives up and sits up like Kourtney. He sighs. “I—fine. Okay. I used to paint them all the time. A couple of years ago, my family came home really early one day when I had decided I was going to paint them a really noticeable colour, unlike usual, and I accidentally dropped the bottle into the sink when I freaked out hearing them, and it shattered and spilled everywhere. I still haven’t talked to my mom about it since that day. I think it traumatized me a little bit.” 

Kourtney turns her phone on, and then turns on her flashlight. “You’ve never told anyone any of that?”

Seb only shakes his head and squints at the flashlight shining out at him. “I haven’t, no. And today…” 

“I’m sorry if we pressured you to do something you’re not comfortable with doing anymore. I can probably look around and find some rubbing alcohol if you want?”

“I’m good. Maybe it’ll be good for me.” He says, shrugging silently. He ponders a moment. “I think it was the first thing that I discovered I could do that really made me feel like _myself_. And then Sharpay, and her costume, and your makeup…” 

“You feel more at home with yourself that way?” 

Seb smiles to himself a little bit, and looks down at his lap. He sees his fingernails shimmer underneath Kourtney’s phone flashlight. He does sort of feel at home. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“Why haven’t you told anyone about the makeup thing?”

“I don’t know,” Seb replies honestly. “I don’t know why I’ve never talked about it before. It’s just a weird thing to talk about, I guess.” 

“Why?” Kourtney asks. 

Because he’s a boy, and boys aren’t meant to like makeup? Because there’s _rules_? “I’m a _boy_ , I guess,” he says finally. “And boys have rules, just like girls do, but, like, more? Or—it’s more severe if you break them.”

“Maybe you’re not a boy, then.”

Seb shrugs. Sure, maybe his mind has wandered there once or twice, but he really didn’t think so. “I don’t think I’m a girl.” 

“You don’t have to be either,” Kourtney says. She opens her phone, and the flashlight turns off for a moment. “Like, maybe you’re non-binary or something. In that case, there’s really no rules.” She turns the flashlight back on, and Seb’s not looking at her anymore. “I get it, though,” Kourtney says finally, after she realizes Seb probably isn’t going to respond. “But nobody here would care about the rules, whatever you are or decide to like. Do you think Carlos does, care about stupid rules?”

“I…I guess not. I’d never really thought about it like that.” 

“It might explain why you care so much about the rules. It doesn’t have to, but it might.”

“I’ll think about it. I promise you’ll be the first I’ll let know.” 

Kourtney hums. “I’m glad you trust me, Sebby.”

“I’m glad you listen so well to me.” 

“That was adorable, but what the fuck is that flashlight still on for? You turned if off before and I had hope for a moment—like, guys, it’s way too early for this,” Ricky grumbles sleepily, and both Kourtney and Seb burst out laughing. 

“Okay, grumpy! We’ll try to go to sleep. I was just scared by the movie...” 

“I didn’t hear any of that, by the way, Seb. Or—I mean, I’ll keep it to myself. Scout’s promise, or whatever?” 

“I sincerely hope you weren’t awake the whole time…”

“Sorry, dude. What’s the mashup name?”


End file.
